Apex
by Jonas Grant
Summary: Having seen how useful controlled wild animals could be in warfare on Pandora, the RDA comes up with Super-Predators of its own and heads back for a rematch. Quote of things to come; "Welcome to the jungle, Sully, the real jungle. Out here, it's survival of the vicious, the sickest, reckon you're sick enough to cut it?"
1. Introduction

**A/N : Nice, you clicked on my story! Hey, don't read it just yet, I gotta warn you about a few things first!**

**First, I use present tense, first person. That's just how I write, its got it plus and its downs, but I like it.**

**Second, I wanted to create a different protagonist, and by different, I mean not human. But I'm no twelve year old fanboy, I ain't about to write how some normal kid got thrown in a dino's body, fuck this, this story will be told from the Dino's point of view, beginning to end. (except for the intro, anyway.)**

**You're thinking "Oh, a story about a Raptor, how original!" Well… WRONG! It's another ultra-smart predator I was thinking about! Troodons! **

**But then, I think that story would have been boring, just biting preys and stalking them all the time, where's the thrill, the suspense?**

**I know what you're thinking "Every other dinosaur has as much intellect as a newborn cub, so what exactly are you gonna do?**

**Weelll… I was thinking (A rare occurrence, I concur) about Jurassic Park III and the Spinosaurus, more accurately, about the debate its victory over the T-Rex caused.**

**What did we see in the movie? One apex predator fighting another? The seven tons, frontal assault oriented T-Rex VS the six tons, more sophisticated Spike? Muscle VS brains? Because, to me, it's clear the Spinosaur was by no mean naturally so smart as to know how to break another animal's vertebras… Here's what it inspired to me…**

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_From: Dr. L. Sorkin_

_To: Dr. H. Wu _

_Object: Spinosaurus Atrox _

_Henry, please, you must listen to me! You cannot possibly be serious; the modifications you are asking me to bring are utter lunacy! Not to mention years ahead of anything we have ever attempted, the results could be catastrophic._

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_From:Dr. H. Wu _

_To:Dr. L. Sorkin_

_Object: Not my call._

_I know you and I do not see eye to eye on many things, or any things, for that matter, but on this one, I agree completely, yet InGen needs something to show the Department of Defense in the event they decided to weaponize genetic technology and an that oversized, highly-intelligent theropod is the best we can do right now. _

_It's not so hard, Laura, we just need to find the genes responsible for our Troodon's extreme cognitive abilities and use that to make the Spinosaurs smarter, then we grow a small group of them, show them to the inspectors and euthanize them before they can become dangerous. And even if they did grow into adulthood, they are no more dangerous than our T-Rexes, and it's not like they can reproduce._

Comfortably installed in his leather seat, all the way up the RDA headquarter in New-York city, Milo Travis smiled. International Genetics, a dead company who had fought to the bitter hand to keep Isla Sorna a natural preserve, one of the last on Earth, and succeeded, trough heavy contributions to the RDA's Avatar program, although they had gone bankrupt the exact same year.

This was almost a hundred years ago, now, all their files were public property and Isla Sorna was open for exploitation by everyone.

Well, everyone who wouldn't get his head chomped off inside ten seconds.

He looked up at the SecOps operative standing in front of his desk, the soldier's features lost in the darkness of the room.

"Do you understand your mission?"

"Set up camp, explore nesting areas, find eggs from…" The operative looked down at a holographic display, "Troodons, Carnotaurus, Tyrannosaurus Rex, Velociraptor Sorna and Spinosaurus Atrox, failing that, I am to capture live specimens… How many troops can you spare, sir?"

The new head of the Pandora development branch leaned forward, "As many as you'll need, I need these creatures before the ship leaves."

"Might I ask why? These animals cannot survive on Pandora…" There was confusion in the SecOps' voice, "Can they?"

"Our scientist think the Cretaceous atmosphere they evolved for was extremely toxic, filled with sulfuric emanations and gasses from volcanoes, they should adapt to Pandora easily."

"But… Why?"

Travis removed the light silver rimmed glasses he wore only for the look and showed his interlocutor the files of all Dinosaurs.

"Selfridge had his ass kicked for three reasons; first, he was a moron," They both nodded to each others, accepting that statement as fact, "Second, he underestimated the locals…"

"Doesn't that fall under the first category?"

"Might be," Travis admitted, thoughtful, "Anyway, third, this planet pitted super-predators on that poor bastard's grunts, so I'm going to use SecOps defensively and use our planet's own Super-Predators to kick those alien's blue asses back to stone age."

"They already..."

"It's a figure of speech," Milo leaned on the Raptor's display, showing a fearsome creature with quills at the back of its head and a pair of claws on its hind legs that realized with the Operative's combat knife, "Fast, agile, smart and Kevlar-like skin, better yet, they use pack hunting tactics that would put our most elite divisions to shame, we'll train them to stick around the trucks and hunt around them."

The Carnotaurus was one big and ugly bastard, but the 3D display kept losing its color, going transparent after a few seconds every time the SecOps tried to look at it from a different angle. The reason why soon became obvious, "Big, slow and dumb as a rock, these guys we'll mark and keep around the base camp, they're ambush predators, couldn't chase a snail if their lifes depended on it, so our people will just need to avoid them and everyone will be happy," He smiled, "well, everyone but the natives."

He then pointed to the small and quite ugly Troodons. The thing's proportions didn't match the fossils Milo had seen, but InGen had notoriously botched its work at the time. "Small, sneaky and totally fucking brilliant, they can't be controlled, but we won't need to, we'll just have to tag these bad boys, release them near the blue monkey's territory and watch as they do all the job for us."

"Nocturnal predators," the other pointed out, "there's no night on Pandora…"

Milo scoffed, "The little fuckers will make due, if half the things I read about them is true, they're smarter than most of our grunts."

"That makes me feel much better about my mission…"

"And you haven't seen the best part yet…" The T-Rex displayed was a female, a huge one, her rust colored skin proclaiming that she didn't need camouflage; she was the biggest, meanest thing on that small island. "T-Rex, apex predator of Earth and all around biggest bully to ever live, dog-like intelligence, keratin hardened scales, bacteria dripping jaws, banana sized teeth, atrophied forearms…"

"How's their lack of forearm a plus?" The soldier was just that, a soldier, utterly unable to think outside the box.

"Bite," Milo explained, "An animal can only have so much muscles on its body and there was a point in the Rexes' evolution where they couldn't increase their biting power some more without cutting down somewhere, the arms were the best choice and now their jaws can crush a Scorpion in a single bite… That brings me to our last friend."

"Spinosaurus." The images flickered to some kind of drinking accident between a T-Rex, an alligator and a sailboat, the whole just a notch bigger and slimmer that the Rex.

"Not as much of a bully as our Rexy," Milo announced, "Spike is not a big game hunter, he prefers fishing, but he _is_ a well oiled killing machine and _will _fuck your shit up for raining on his parade." The big lizard on the display scratched its head in an oddly human way before yawning in apparent boredom, "Of all the specimens, Spinosaurs seem to be the most soft tempered and barring the odd psychotic break if you mess with their babies or nest, they're quite docile, just… don't piss any of them off while you're down there, they hold grudges."

Milo had seen the reports from the second Sorna incident; a bunch of hired guns had opened fire on the Spike, maybe killed one of its babies and found themselves tracked across the whole fucking island by seven metric tons of psychopathic Barney.

"What do we need them for if they're not as efficient as T-Rexes?"

"Hunter-killers, although the Rex has a better sense of smell, Spikes seem to have sensorial abilities close to that of modern day crocs and once they decide you'll die, you might as well shoot yourself and spare everyone the trouble."

"You speak of them as if they were persons." The Operative pointed out and Travis chuckled, nodding.

"Read the Sorna incident report and you'll understand, but let's just say I suspect Spike, given proper schooling, could take over my job with ease and do much better than me."

There was no sign of sarcasm in the man's voice and that chilled the Operative to the bone.


	2. Bad To The Bone

**A/N: Meet Bone, Protagonist of this story. **

**Kane: Spinosaurus, in fact, as I said, the story of the Underdog didn't feel as interesting as that of Spike...**

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><p><strong>Thirty years before Operation Royal Flush.<strong>

Push, pull, bite, kick, whine. All of these things, they come to me before I can even realize I am me and I am doing them before I can know what being me means. The world is only red darkness and pulsating echoes, but I can feel that knowing that I am already makes me important.

I must get out of here and I already did half the work without realizing it, the barrier of my world now cracked in many places.

I am tired and hungry, something I never felt before and although I cannot grasp what it means, I know it is bad.

One last push and my eyes start burning; there was light in my world, but it never was so intense. Terror grips me, shivers starting at the tip of my tail and causing my whole body to tremble. I blink, trying to take in my new world, but my eyes are filled with liquid and I cannot keep them open. All I see is a looming red shadow on a green background.

I scream in fright and a soft growl answers me, rough skin rubbing on my face to calm my fear: Mother.

This is a concept I grasp instantly; this individual is going to be the most important thing in my life for a very long time. I just hope she knows it too…

Another scream follows, next to me, to the right, and the reassuring touch goes away, although my mother's smell lingers on.

Those limbs of mine were not of use to me in my former world, there was no room to move them, but this new world seems empty, so I move them around, flailing my admittedly tiny arms around gleefully.

This is so much fun! I roll on my back and begin kicking with my legs, but it seems the rules here are not the same and there is a new concept I must learn; falling.

It seems that when I am standing on uneven floor, loosing balance will make me roll until the floor is even again.

Once that happens to me, I learn about a concept called pain.

My eyes are clearing up now, and I can see that I am laying flat on my belly, looking up at my mother, who's too busy caring for the rest of the babies to notice me.

I push myself up with my relatively tiny arms and look around. I wonder, if I know that I am me, do everything here do to? Do those green things surrounding us think they are better because they know? Does it matter?

I want to ask my mother, she must know, but can only chirp excitedly. It feels wrong; I should be able to form other sounds, yet when I try to, only different level of excitement creep in my chirps, not making much sense.

My mother seems to know how I feel and tenderly picks me up to drop me back atop the small mount of sand my brothers and sisters a bickering on. Not really remembering what it was that bothered me a second ago, I pounce one of my siblings and sit on his head while he whines in confusion.

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**Twenty Five years before Operation Royal Flush.**

The two Beaks are playing, bickering with each others and not seeing they've left their herd behind. The tiny Eyes that follow me around are getting excited, as they know my family and I are about to spring in action. I would never admit it, but having the tiny, big eyed creatures around makes me feel much safer, as Raptors, Spitters and Red Faces usually keep their distance from them, keeping my siblings and I safe, as we are still smaller that a Beak. In exchange, not that we have a choice, we let them feed on our kills.

Mother used to scare them away, until the day she did not come back from a hunt…

I shake myself and push on the ground to transfer my weight to my rear legs.

This is something most hunters here cannot do, walking on all four, and I find disturbing the fact I share this ability with the Beaks.

The two playing in the high grass, thirty steps ahead of me, are half the size of adults. Easy kills, but faster than all five of us. The Eyes could catch them, but the Eyes never hunt anything, so I might as well forget about it.

The plan is simple and although I wish there was a way for my brothers and sisters to hear what I am thinking, I know the only way is to let them fill the gaps by themselves.

I just hope their initiatives will no cost us the hunt, for I have eaten nothing but Swimers and a few Climbers in almost ten moons.

The two young Beaks stumble right in front of my hiding spot and I must shut off all my instincts to keep from jumping out instantly.

I let them pass, waiting for them to get further to my right, then walk out, keeping it slow and quiet. I must keep this way until I am just out of smelling distance from the herd, then, I begin running.

The Beaks do not notice me as I reach their level and I do not make my presence known until they pass my brothers. Once they do, however, I take a slippery turn and beging closing the fifty step gap between us, roaring as loud as I can.

That gets their attention and both preys try to run back the way they came, yet my brothers, both slightly bigger and more brightly colored, step in the way, one roaring and charging the Beaks while the other runs in my direction to prevent our meal from slipping between us.

Both Beaks scream for help and turn around. Sometimes, the preys fall at this point and we can end the chase quickly, but those are not old or sick and they have excellent balance.

Running on their hind legs and screaming non-stop, the preys are slowly being driven toward the river, where my sisters are waiting, immerged and immobile; they look like three dead trees.

Next time, they will be the ones running and I will take a bath…

My legs are hurting and my chest is burning, although I have had worst.

My brothers and I are slowly being out paced, but if we release the pressure now, our preys will escape us. With a Black Skin roaming around our territory, we need all our strength for the unavoidable fight.

With a roar, I increase the speed and soon find myself running parallel to the two Beaks. If I try to get closer, I will run into my brothers, just like I did last time… The temptation to sink my teeth in those small preys is just so tempting, I sometime forget everything else. This time, I keep one eye on the preys and the other on the herd.

Breathing becomes hard and it feels as if no matter how hard I try, I can't get enough air in.

I am not going to be able to keep this pace much longer…

Suddenly, there is no more ground under my feet and I crash into the river with a lot of confused roaring and pointless paddling.

By the time I figure out which way is up, both preys have had their neck broken and the Eyes are waiting their turn just outside the tree line.

They used to eat at the same time as us, but it seems their saliva can make a Sail my size see things that are not really there, so we had to keep them from touching the kills until we had our share. They seem to accept that state of being, probably because it means we must pierce the skin and eat the easiest to rip, toughest parts while they can pick smaller, softer bits.

I do a quick count, to be sure everyone is there, identifying my elder sister by her dark brown color and the youngest by her pale beige, my brothers are of much more vivid color, the smallest being a mixture of sky blue and grass green while the biggest is striped black and red. Everyone is there, and an underwater inspection confirms I'm all there as well.

I am the lest colored male, being black with white stripes, but am also the second larger and my whole head is an almost luminescent white, or so I am seeing now in my reflection.

I look like a kill that has been completely striped of flesh, leaving only the bones. May not be the best for attracting a mate, but it sure scared those Raptors away last time.

I swim out and shake the water off.

The others have started eating. In a Raptor pack, the alpha male gets to eat first, but we are not Raptor, we are not a pack and I am not the leader, I am just the smartest and, soon enough, we will need to scatter around the island so we can have enough food, as a single hunt is now barely enough to feed the whole pack. Most of us will die trying to secure a territory, but I doubt I will be one of those, as I am strong, fast and intelligent, unlike Brown and Green, respectively the weakest and stupidest of us.

Oh well, let's eat.

I must use my claws to dig into the kill's hind leg, then pull on its feet with my jaws.

Most hunters around can tear off meat with their teeth like I so with my claws, but us Sails can only stab things with out jaws, making us better with smaller preys, which is why I will personally never defy a Black Skin or Roar for territory; we do not eat the same preys.

The others would, however, because it's what our instinct tells us and they have much trouble controlling their instinct…

The leg comes off and I leave, holding it in my jaws, to go gnaw the thing on the shore, where I can wash the blood off before it attracts insects and begins smelling, as it would make me even less discreet as I am already.


	3. Bitch Slap

**A/N: Ugh, sorry I didn,t proof read, too tired. Let's do this!**

**Invader jrek: I wanted to show their intelligence was mostly instinctive, instead of acquired, but intelligence and experience are different things… And Eyes are Troodons, named like that by Bone because their eyes glow in the dark.**

**Actually, here's a small list of names and meanings:**

**Sail: Spinosaurus**

**Black Skins: Carcharadontosaurus **

**Roar: Tyrannosaurus **

**Beak: Just about any Hadrosaurs**

**Spike: Any Triceratopsians**

**Flyers: Birds. Pteranodons too**

**Climbers: Monkey**

**Swimers: Fishes**

**Raptors: Velociraptors**

**Red Faces: Ceratosaurs**

**Eyes: Troodons**

**This is just how he calls things, what he notices, most of the rest doesn't have enough importance for him to name it, so it's just called what we would call it (Tree, rock, fly, mosquito.) Please note that Bone's thoughts are in English because there would be no story otherwise, he does not speak English nor any language.**

Other Hunters have a smell we Sails lack, a scent of decay that serves as a warning to their approach for foes and preys alike and is caused by the decaying meat stuck in their mouth. This also means that if a Roar or Black bites you, the bitten body part will rot and fall off.

That smell is now hanging in the air, meaning the Black is coming.

My half eaten leg falls in the water when I emit a warning signal to the other, the same sound we used to make to call our mother.

I wish we had a designated 'Big hungry predator sneaking up on us' sound, but my mouth can only produce so many sounds and I have to recycle some. Since my siblings only give me confused looks, I follow up with a powerful roar we usually emit only to warn intruders away.

Green and Beige are the first to catch on and immediately look up from the carcasses to sniff around. Their whines of fright warn the others and we soon stand side by side, facing the forest.

The Eyes are gone, they most likely having smelled the predator long before I did.

I am not surprised they did not warn us, we are not friends, nor do we want to, we simply tolerate each others and that cooperation does not stretch very far.

I would still step on them if they failed move out of my way, for instance, and should I find a mate and have eggs, they would be a major threat to them. No hard feelings, we are just made that way.

From the trees emerge a large black shape, its thundering walk shaking the ground now that it is no longer trying to hide its presence. In twelve steps, it fills the gap between the tree-line and us, not making a single sound and keeping its eyes fixed on the kills. 

It wants to steal our meal, but we are big and numerous enough to make it back down, so we all begin our threat display, roaring while rising up and down and flushing blood to our head and crest.

Most of the others take more vivid colors and such, but me, being white, turn red, looking like half eaten, bloodied bones and that naturally attracts the stupid predator's attention.

I take a step forward and snap my jaws, following with a powerful roar and rear my head so far back my tail touches the grass.

The Black Skin is not impressed, so my brothers and sisters arrive to support me, walking sideway to look even bigger, their sails changing colors as they walk.

Even if we go for the throat and are in luck, the Black is twice our size and many times our weight. It would crush us all in a fight, but also incur severe injuries and it knows it.

The thing roars and stomps on the floor in a display of force and I snap my jaws four times in quick succession, causing loud claps every time. My siblings do the same soon enough.

The Black groans and roars one last time, not that hungry not that it is faced with half a dozen snapping jaws.

I bring my clawed arms apart, showing off my claws, and roar right back at it.

The Black turns around, not caring anymore, and re-enters the forest to look for an easier meal.

We keep on roaring for a time, then return to our meal.

My piece of meat has rolled on the beach and there is sand all over it. I am not difficult with my food, but sand makes eating less enjoyable, so I push the leg under the water and wait for the current to clean it up.

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**Seven years before Operation Royal Flush.**

Ah… You brought a friend? Fine, then, let us play.

The two young Blacks must see this thought in my attitude, as they exchange a worried look and roar at me.

I'm taller than they are, bigger and stronger, but there is two of them and their bite is very dangerous.

I am not scared and I am not going to back down. This fight is only one of many I found myself in since the family broke apart, a long time ago.

We are standing in a clearing, facing each others on either side of a dead Spike.

I did not kill it, another Spike did as they fought over a mate, and now I must fight over the meat with the two Blacks.

I step on the corpse and roar in their direction, knowing full well they are not going to flee. I want them to attack me first.

My touching their meal gets them in a rage as expected, and they both charge forward with their mouths wide open.

I step aside and use the right one as a barrier between its mate and I. The Black is quick and soon turns to face me, not fast enough to avoid three claws to the face, however.

It is knocked off balance, stumbling around for a moment with its companion backing away in confusion; it finally trips on the dead Spike and begins the kind of fall a Hunter rarely gets up from.

The first black has not yet touched down that the other is rushing at me. Using my jaw would end this fight swiftly but I hardly feel like risking my neck –literally- over a piece of meat, which is why I use my claws again, swinging in an ample arc to dig all three weapons deep in its jaw muscles and maybe even dislocate bones.

The hit is effective and tears a long gash on the side of its head, along the upper jaw, but it is not sufficient in stopping the angered predator, this takes a huge step left and a rise of my right knee to end the charge, and cut the Black's breath.

It's a trick I invented from watching Raptors use their feet in combat. Roars, Blacks and Sails use their legs too, but to move objects and preys, not fight, we lack the agility to claw at our foes with our feet, but I quickly learned claws are not everything and a strong hit in just bellow the solid part of the torso can make an enemy cower in fear without having to draw blood.

I do not feel bad for the Blacks, they are too stupid to be important, but mindless killing is wrong, and the blood in question could just as easily be mine.

The result on this particular Black is as expected; it roars in pain and quickly hops away from me and to the cover of the forest. The downed Black is quick to follow, a single, menacing growl being all the motivation it needs to go hide and wait for its turn.

Indeed, both Black will soon come back to scavenge whatever meat I left. A Sail needs a lot of meat, but a Spike is more than I could ever reasonably consume, so there will be plenty left for the young predators.

I use my claws to open the skin and stick my snout in the animal's insides, poking around for the two fleshy bulbs I love.

Right… There!

Now that I am fully grown, I get to eat the best parts quite often, most hunters preferring to let me steal some of their prey rather than risking severe lacerations. My life is more fight than hunt, when I think about it. A Roar is a hunter, I am a fighter. If we were to live in a pack like the Raptors, then Sails would defend territories and Roars would provide food. Maybe one day this will happen; Sails are intelligent, Roars are instinctive pack hunters and both our species have no instinctive urge to fight one another, unlike the Blacks, which, for some reason, I cannot stand.

Hmm… What is that sound? Seems like a falling tree, but it is continuous…

My eyes and ears are the primary mean trough which I see the world, but my snout can see much as well, like disturbances in the air, be it caused by a flight of Flyers or a fleeing Beak.

This time, however, it is caused by something bigger. A flight of very large creatures heading in my direction.

The flyers are still far off, but I would prefer not to get into another fight today, so I take one last bite off the Spike and retreat to the trees.


	4. Oviraptor

The large blade bit through foliage like a lawn mower through grass, a very good news to the team, as the AMP wielding it was the only kind of support they were able to drag in that jungle. Leaving most of their firepower behind to move quicker.

Pandora was one thing, a huge ass environment where even plants tried to kill you, but Earth's environment wasn't as comparatively weak as some people thought, the foliage was thicker, trees doted the ground all over like grass, always vertical and never bending or twisting to form bridges, effectively caging anything not flexible enough to navigate it. Bigger trees meant bigger shadow and less chances for plants to grow, and the fact Pandora trees grew horizontaly from time to time meant even more shadow, while on Earth, the environment was more economical, pushing straight up and minimizing energy expense.

There was a theory the team's Xeno-botanist, Valerie Degler, was eager to test out; based on researches done by her grand-mother, Ellie Sattler, a survivor of Isla Nublar, and field research reports from Pandora; she thought Earth and Pandora were nothing alike on any level, and not just when it came to what meets the eye, even the evolutionary process was different.

Eywa, Pandora's mass consciousness, which the RDA now recognized as a single, sentient living organism, guided the planet's ecosystem to fulfill specific roles, no competition, everyone had a defined niche and there were no superfluous individuals. Conscious, but limited planning. Earth, however, was individualist, there was no planning, no cooperation, every individual fought tooth and nails to supplant its foes, evolving new traits trough adaptation and mutation, not conscious design, despite religious claims over the years, creating much more species than any sentient organism could ever think up, although these species were often flawed, misconceived or outright redundant.

All in all, Pandora's ecosystem was better designed, sleeker, more elegant, perfect, while Earth was raw, brutal, ingenious and hyper-adaptive even on an individual's scale.

Val walked right behind the AMP, taking samples of foliage from the ground and making certain to stay between the two heavily armed and armored Marines escorting her.

Of the six additional team members, only one was related to the original survivors; Andrew Harding-Malcolm was the most closely related to the original survivors, being the son of Ian Malcolm and Sarah Harding, he was, technically, over a hundred years old, but that was without counting all the time spent in cryo while working for the Santa Fe institute on quantum mathematics and applied physics during long range travels. He was forty years old and said to be the most brilliant mathematician of all times, although his father's influence could be felt in his attitude and beliefs.

Clad in a black suit with a pearl white shirt and walking with the help of his father's old cane, the man seemed quite out of place in the jungle, yet moved with ease, thanks to his father's enlightened advice; "Son, if you ever know you're going to be chased by dinosaurs, wear hiking boots. Not running shoes, not combat boots; hiking."

"You people do realize at least four of us will die before the end of the day?" He announced to his companions, rather cheerfully.

"Chaos theory?" Degler scoffed, three steps ahead.

Andy stepped over a thick root and smiled, the sunglasses covering his eyes rising slightly with the gesture. "No, statistics; no matter how prepared they were, every previous expedition to islands like this ended with over seventy percent of the staff getting eaten."

One of the marines hefted his Battle Rifle and asked, somewhat cockily, "But did any of them have babies like this?"

Terry Levine, their resident paleontologist, actually laughed at that question.

"Oh yeah," He explained after a few seconds, "this island has seen mercs, hunters, poachers, Marines and scientists." He added, jumping rather merrily over the hacked off leafs and branches.

The second Marine was older, more experienced, and he punched his comrade's shoulder pad to stop any snarky comeback. "If you'd read the file, you'd know." He scolded, "You think just because we're still on Earth, we're the baddest fuckers around?"

The other man seemed to think about it for a second, then shrugged, "Yeah! I mean, cavemen beat the dinos with sticks and stones, we can do it with assault rifles!"

A loud slap was heard coming from the back of the group; at least three of the science crew facepalming hard at what they had just heard.

Operative Lancaster, inside the AMP, lifted a fist to halt the formation and gestured for the soldiers to spread out. They were at the first nesting area.

Both Marines went right while the two S.A.S. bringing the rear of the formation headed left, leaving the scientists with the AMP

Velociraptors Sorna, bright motherfuckers, but the AMP's thermal imagery would reveal anything hiding around the nest. "We're clear," Lancaster spoke over the radio, "move in."

The warriors stepped out of the bushes, weapons held ready, and stepped into the clearing, maneuvering between the dirt mounds.

They swept the clearing and established a perimeter, one man every three meters, kneeling ten steps from the edge of the jungle. They were effectively still in the nest and not surrounding it like the 'perimeter' term suggested, both because they lacked the manpower for it and because they had all seen far too many horror movies to risk being grabbed and dragged in the bushes.

Levine stepped in and walked casually to the first nest. A dozen dotted the area, but he needed only two or three eggs for their genetic material. It was quickly done and the samples were soon secured in the AMP's backpack.

Then, Lancaster's thermal screen lit up like a Christmas tree, tiny dots showing up on the edge of the sensor range. The task force hadn't been spotted yet, but the dots were headed straight for them…

"Multiple incoming." The operative tried to stay composed, "Fall back." The bluish dots on the AMP's screen moved fast, faster than they should have, and were on the soldiers within a second of the retreat order. Ambush.

The men had just started falling back when the raptors jumped them, killing both Marines almost instantly.

The british special forces were quicker, however, and both whipped out combat knives in time to arm wrestle a pair of genetically enhanced predators.

First one was an irish woman called Coal and she ended the fight quickly by sectioning the raptor's trachea in mid air.

The other, Gas, missed his slash and ended up on the ground, a bleeding but still well alive raptor trying hard to eat his face.

His left foot pressed on the Raptor's rib cage, keeping the animal away, but just barely, still forcing him to crane his neck right and left to avoid the hypnotising sets of curved fangs.

It looked like a bad 3D movie where the viewer has the impression the animal is jumping at them from the screen, except this particular animal was actually jumping at him and sprayed saliva all over his face.

Just stabbing the animal's flank yielded little result, as he needed some sort of momentum to pierce the thick skin and muscles.

He instead stabbed the raptor in the face, right in the cavity between the eye and nostrils. The blade dug in and the animal reared its head like a frightened horse, rising up just far enough to have its midsection blasted apart by a burst of 30mm ammunition from the AMP.

That same burst caused every other Velociraptor looking for a weak spot to back away and start barking angrily.

Gas got up just as Coal dragged herself from under the dead dino. The two S.A.S. picked their rifles, dangling from chest straps the Paratroopers always favored, and took aim at the mass of dinosaurs, barely five feet ahead of them.

The Raptors made no move to attack as the two soldiers backed out of the clearing, but they made their anger obvious by barking and hissing at the trespassers long after they were gone.

"I'm not being paid enough for this shit." Gas hissed once safe.

Malcolm walked up to the man and gave him a pat in the back, "Well, the way this expedition keeps loosing personnel, you will be soon."

And he went on his way, sticking close to the departing AMP.

The original plan was to get all samples and return to camp within ten hours of landing, quick and easy, but it seemed like they would have to get more firepower before hitting another nest, thus, Lancaster decided to backtrack to base camp and go back out there next morning.

If the Raptors proved that bad, the T-Rex would be one hell of a bitch.


	5. Say Uncle

**A/N: Sorry I didn't update in a while, got tons of stuff going on and, honestly, a Dinosaur ain't the easiest protagonist to work with... I mean, did you ever try to have a friendly argument with one? Guh!**

The Climbers have walked around the island for quite some time now, carrying tools with them, but they always come back in the same place, near the large water. I can't understand why they would nest there, the large water is salty, you can't drink it, and there is nothing to eat there. Maybe they eat eggs, as that is what the spent their time stealing.

Sails are not made to hunt in the jungle, we are too big and not the right color, but I learned long ago how to be discreet. If a Black or Roar catches us on its territory, the fight would be equal and I have learned long ago not to get in an equal fight.

This is why I remain hidden as the Climbers enter my sister's territory. She has a mate now, he would kill me without second thought if he knew I'm there, and she most likely wouldn't stop him. The two of them together should have no problem killing the intruders.

Otherwise, I will be nearby.

It is odd, that I feel the need to protect my sibling when none of the other has that instinct, but I have always been different, always thinking deeper and colder than they. Before, it seemed I was the most intelligent being to ever exist, but now, watching these Climbers use their tool and carefully plan their attacks on nests, something only Eyes and Raptors used to do.

Still, the Climbers have no idea I am close enough to hear them communicate and though it is nothing more than clicks and hisses, their fear and anxiousness are evident in the tone.

Two giant Walkers hack down trees at the front while Climbers with killing tools and liquid fire stay in the middle, ahead of a smelly object that rolls on round fleshy things and carries more walkers in a metal box at its rear.

I know little of metal and tools the Climbers carry, but little is still more than most do. There is a cave, made by the things that made me, built in metal inside and out, a few hours from here. I live there, listen and watch, touch nothing, just like now, only now the things I hunt exist at this moment, while in the cave, they use to be, but are no more.

Well, I say they are no more, but that only means they no longer change the things that are. Using all my senses, I can still feel the beings that lived there before my time, their scent, imprints here and there, spread across their creations and, putting all these perceptions together, sometimes manage to glimpse at what once was.

It all started with Climbers creating eggs, and now they are back to take them. If only they could understand me, or I could understand them, we could share so much knowledge… Like Eyes and Raptors do, telling others what they saw. Sails cannot do that, me included, though I tried. I tried with Eyes, I tried with Raptors and I even tried with other Hunters, it never worked.

Ah! It seems things are finally becoming fun! The Climbers are within earshot of my sister's nest and she is already waiting for them, her mate walking softly around to attack from behind. Not quiet enough to elude me, but, to be honest, he does almost walk on my tail by the time I spot him.

Too focused on his task and plain too dumb for anything else, he fails to even notice my scent. This is an impressive achievement for a Sail, being able to ignore another Hunter's scent… Not even ignore, simply miss it entirely; we can taste flesh and skin in the air, feel our prey's pulse from halfway across the island and he almost stepped on me.

How did he ever seduce my sister? I should kill him right now and make sure she finds a mate that is actually worthy… Ah, but no time for that now, the Climbers have just entered their nest and my sibling is making herself as threatening as she can. She stomps around, shaking the earth and toppling trees, flushes blood to her skin to make herself more visible and makes sure the small creatures get a good look at her fangs and claws.

I would have been out of their territory halfway through the display, but the Climbers and their tools refuse to budge.

Only a few more seconds and my sister's mate will be jumping in from behind…Two distinct noises tear the air and shake my skull. When the confusion has passed, the smell of blood fills the air and my sister's life dissipates like blood in water.

They killed her. Did not even try to speak, just killed and spilled blood they do not hunger for. Why? What cause could be worth the life of my sibling? They do not feed on her meat, nor her eggs. They only take two while the male Sail, frozen merely a few steps behind the metal box, watches in confused terror.

What just happened, purposeless killing, I have never witnessed, I have no concept of it and neither does the other Sail. There was no warning, no chance to back down. They killed as a hunter does, but none of them are hungry. They killed for killing alone.

This might be the first time I witnessed such a thing, but it will not be the last.

Death fills the air, my sister's death, tainted by the fear of the one supposed to protect her, along with the putrescence of those who ended her life. The wind must be purified, my sister's death washed by the fear and blood of the ones responsible.

I always was a fast learner.

0

0

0

"Contact at the rear!" Barked an RDA SecOps merc from the Swan's turret, pulling the bolt on his weapon but waiting for the Operative's order to fire.

Everyone spun to see another Spinosaurus, slightly smaller than the first, standing smack in the middle of a path recently carved by the AMP suits. The dinosaur just stood about thirty meters away, breathing heavily as it took in the scene.

With a few quick arm gestures, the Operative's AMP dispatched shooters to take up firing positions on either side of the Swan. The red and black behemoth of teeth and fangs never moved nor blinked, only watching.

"All points!" Roared the Operative, raising her weapon in one swift gesture, "fire at…"

If questioned later, most grunts would swear a giant reptile's skeleton had emerged from the jungle, body-checked the Spinosaurus and bitten its face off.

The skeletal monster has a good head taller than his brethren, but, with a few shoves and twists, managed to use the now beheaded carcass as a shield from the humans' fire long enough to dive back in the foliage.

"They're killing each other?!" Someone questioned over the rattling of gunfire.

Panicked grunts were blindly wasting their ammo in the trees. It took their NCOs physically removing the weapons from their hands to end the shooting.

The Operative quickly analyzed the situation and found that whoever said this would be an easy job needed to have their brains taken away before hurting somebody. "Everyone, take position around the Swan!" This was the best they could do. Sending people to positions amongst the trees would make their attacker's life easier, whereas retreating, though somewhat smarter, would lead to a similar outcome.

Not that trying to hold this narrow strip of cleared foliage, barely wide enough for an AMP to squeeze past the Swan and take position at the rear, would let them get away without losing a couple of people.

Still, they'd killed one of these things, bagging another should prove just as easy…

Soon, there were guns pointing in every direction, paranoid mercs behind every cannon, just eager to blow that monstrosity apart and be done with it.

But nothing came. Minutes crept by, the whole jungle quiet except for flies and distant howls, and still, no sign of the beast. It beheaded brethren still squirted blood, forming a veritable pool of putrescent mud. It felt like days before the Operative finally ordered the men to stand down.

Thermals scans revealed nothing large enough to be their attacker and, honestly, why would a predator stalk its prey after making its presence known?

"Okay, flamers, clear us a path around that corpse!" Finally spoke their leader, sweating in her AMP, "Everyone else, be on your toes…"

Three men stepped into the bloodied mud, flamers at the ready, and began charring the jungle on the left of the carcass, where the skeletal monster had disappeared.

It appeared on the opposite side, exactly where it had first emerged from, and, with a defiant roar, ran right in the open to scoop one of the three mercs off his feet before vanishing again, the man's cries of agony echoing in the distance, not once broken up by gunfire.

This time, the SecOps forces ordered a Dragoon gunship to come pick them up. It took five agonizing minutes and they had the thing vaporize two miles of real estate around the nest. Every square centimeter of foliage in that area vanished, all life extinguished in the flows of napalm and white phosphorous. The Mercs whooped and laughed through the open bay, yelling insults at the now truly skeletal beast.

A lone roar, bouncing around the volcanic peaks, answered them, distant yet clearly audible over the gunship's rotors. If pure hatred could be made into a song, this monster would be its lead vocalist.

They'd heard the Spinosaur mum scream and it was a lullaby in comparison of the thunderclap now rolling across the island. In normal circumstances, all of them would have expected rain to follow…

There was no laugher after that, no human laugher at any rate.


	6. Fire and Ice

**A/N: I know I said I'd write it all from Bone's perspective, but I feel like I'm growing out of the first person thing. Plus, sometimes, you need to be on the receiving end for something to be scary instead of just silly.**

**DONOVAN94: Yeah, I actually wrote the part where he gets on Pandora first, like a kid who opens his birthday presents before eating the cake xD **

**Eternalis: So long as I have fingers and some shreds of sanity, I will write stuff. Now if I could actually be paid to do it, I would be the happiest man alive. I'm actually trying to be published right now and, believe it or not, your comment is what made me realize I could actually try to live off this, so, thanks!**

**Shadow Mercer: Well wait no more, my friend! Or, well, wait some more, because the next chapter is coming soon.**

**Pichicha123: I'm alternating between Apex, Cancer and Lost Brothers right now, might also update I Am Black Light, as it's quite popular, but all in all, you can expect me to be more focused from now on.**

**Sachmis: And this chapter loves you, I'm sure :P**

**Anyhow, as I said on my other stories, I apologise for being so random with my updates. Lately, I've been facing the reality of growing up, finding work and everything, I thought I'd have to quit writing altogether, as I simply no longer had the time, but I realised writing is what I do. It may not be my job nor my profession, but I've been writing since I was twelve, and before that, I invented stories with my friends and we acted them out. I'm a storyteller, always will be, and I'd be nothing without you guys, without an audience…**

**Basically, yeah, more updates will follow.**

"What do you mean it can't be done?!" Roared a very pissed off SecOps Operative to some unlucky pilot.

The man stood straight as a rod in the center of the command tent, unable to speak in sheer terror.

Seeing this, the officer calmed herself and sat on a cheap plastic chair, breathing in deeply to control her own fear. This guy had flown his gunship without any decent pre-flight checks nor the slightest clue what they were up against, and he'd been there for her boys faster than anyone could reasonably expect. More importantly, he'd heard the thing's roar and, for crying out loud, he'd practically seen the monster survive more than anything should have any right to.

This pilot was not only scared of the animals, but of his superior as well and she sympathised.

"Just… Pretend I don't know anything about evacuation plans and navigation. Why can't we leave?"

The pilot took a moment to formulate a coherent answer. He was young, far too much for this kind of thing, but managed to reply without stuttering this time. "Fuel, ma'am, the RDA sent plenty of air support, but not enough fuel to get it all off the island at once."

The Operative nodded once, "I get that, and I don't care, just get the eggs and my people off this rock."

"If I could," defended the other, seemingly offended, "I wouldn't be here talking to you, ma'am, only, we have just enough fuel, if we siphon the Samsons dry, to make the trip to San Jose with my Dragon, or about half the Samsons, if you'd rather keep the Gunship, although it won't be flying anymore then…"

She took it in and thought about it for a time.

Their gear had been designed for Pandora's thicker atmosphere and low gravity. On Earth, the things were needlessly swift, archaic in term of armour and about half as fuel efficient. Why everyone had just assumed the overly specialized equipment would perform flawlessly in the Costa-Rican jungle was beyond her comprehension, and Malcolm, as he leaned over his tablet, computing probabilities and geometrical figures like one plays Solitaire, made sure to point out he'd warned them this would happen.

"So what?" Pushed the officer, ignoring the mathematician, "Just refuel there and make the trip back!"

This actually did insult the pilot and he lost all signs of awkwardness, "Look, boss!" he blurted out, pulling a 3D display of the area, encompassing the local islands and Costa-Rican coast, from under a pile of holographic files and maps. His thin finger pressed against San Jose, causing ripples in the display, "There is no military base in Costa-Rica, and no aircraft grade fuel within fifteen miles of the city. Even if I skip pre-flight check, it will take half the friggin' night to juice up my bird and the storm will have hit by then! We're talking tropical storm here, not Pandora's strong breeze!" He took in a deep breath and his finger left the display, "My bird's not meant to fly long distances in that kind of weather and the Samsons won't be able to make the whole trip fully loaded, so no matter what, you can only get half your people off the island, then the rest will have to wait for the storm to pass." Finally calm, he added, almost as an apology, "If there was another way, I'd have found it by now."

"We'll wait until after the storm," she decided, "I'll need everyone to secure this place until then."

8

8

8

They're not leaving. I would not have let them should they have tried, but they don't even try… How stupid are those things? Well, stupid enough to turn a huge part of the jungle into something I can easily move and hide in. They thought their fire would get me, I suppose. It could have, it almost did, but they assumed I would run away from the flames, try to out-race it. Only a Beak or a Plate is stupid enough to try and outrace fire.

I hid in a pond. My sister may have had poor taste when picking a mate, she knew how to pick a nesting spot. I am a poor fisher, but she was great at it and set up near the stinky water.

Now I'm stinky too, but it doesn't matter, these intruders give off such stench I can't smell my own, so there's not much of a chance they can.

Right now, my main focus is finding out how they hunt, if not by scent. Ten strides (ten of _my_ strides, over a hundred of theirs) away from the intruders' nest, I lay flat on my belly, breathing in and growling a bit louder with every inhalation. I want to see at which point their ears perk up, how loud I need to get before they take notice.

The sun is sinking in the large water when I start and it has been replaced by the shiny sand in the sky when I give up. The invaders' tools growl as loud as I do. No one is noticing me.

How else can they see? Some animals, like the Plates and the Low Plates are almost blind, they feel us coming through smell and by feeling our steps in the ground. I get up, my back hurting because I've been motionless for so long, but also because my sail is bumping against branches on the way up. My fingers are numb, running now would be dangerous, so I wait. If things go well, I should not have to run, but when have things ever gone well for me?

Raptors, Eyes, even Climbers, they can afford to be careless with themselves, to move quickly, to trip then get up and get running again. Roars, Blacks and us Sails cannot. We are strong and resilient, but this strength is also our weakness, we are too strong, too heavy, for ourselves, tripping can break our bones, even though smashing headfirst into each other does little more than bruises. Teeth and claws are dangerous, but, in the end, we are our own worst enemies.

Still numb. Wind is coming from the south, with water from the sky... Good, it will wash off some of the stench and extinguish the fire still ravaging my sister's territory.

Dropping back on all four, I shake my hind legs one at a time to get blood and sensation back in them. Walking on all four gives Sails an advantage on other hunters, we don't trip nearly as easily. Of course, they are hard to topple as it is, I have only seen hunters fall twice and both times, they were facing something very much larger than themselves, namely me. Roars and Blacks can roll on their back and get back on either side, depending on where the ground angles. I've never seen a Sail fall and somehow roll, but, if you ask me, doing so would break our spine and end us there and then. So, yeah, I'm glad I have arms.

Now that I can once again feel my foot, I raise it as high as possible and stomp the ground once. Then twice, and one last time just to be sure. That got their attention. I feel them, tickling my lips as their blood pumps faster and they run around their nest, looking for something that will make them feel safe.

But they don't find me. They feel the steps, but cannot figure out where they are coming from. Good enough; they will be warned of my attacks, but won't know where they are coming from. I can deal with that.

Last thing I can think of is how Eyes seem to spot us from much further when we flush blood in our skin, instead of in our sail. Ready to run off at the first sign of trouble, I focus on the heat in my back, pulling it down towards my face and shoulders. We normally do that to signify anger, or scare off pretentious whelps. Doing it like that, without context, feels strange.

What feels stranger still is almost being toppled over by a burning wind that knocks trees and rocks in the air.

The intruders saw me, just like the Eyes do, and they tried to burn me. This time, my scales are smoking and it feels as though I've been in the sun for too long. I flush blood back to my sail and it grows hotter than I ever thought it could get. I can't see very well with all that smoke and light, but it seems like there's steam rising from the skin…

Now, I may not know a lot of things about what is normal and what is not when it comes to my own body, but I am almost certain it's not supposed to be doing that…

8

8

8

"Close counts in horseshoes and mortar strikes." Joked the artificer, looking up at his boss with a smile, "Target has gone cold."

Malcolm casually walked up to the thermal imager, right next to the mortar position, and studied the screen with care.

"Well, it seems close doesn't quite cut it with this big boy…"

With a sigh, the operative joined Malcolm to watch the thermal image, but saw nothing more than burning tree trunks and dark spots where the animal had been standing earlier. "What are you talking about? It's gone!" She hissed turning to the artificer who nodded energetically.

"Right," scoffed Malcolm, also turning to the SecOps mercenary"say, you were using, what? Napalm bombs?"

"White phosphorous shells."

"Those set stuff on fire?"

"Yes."

Malcolm nodded slowly, "Set stuff on fire." He repeated, slowly, as if trying to hint at something, "Then why is that dino's corpse not a huge blip on your screen? You think it just died and went cold? A thing that size?"

The mercs exchanged a worried glance, then understood the scientist's point, "You telling me this thing is fireproof?" The RDA operative did not feel good about whatever it was Malcolm tried to tell and the only reason she had not just shot the man yet was because he just might be right.

"No, not fireproof, just heat resistant. In fact, I believe it's safe to say this island is very much cold compared to the heats this creature evolved in."

Levine, not far off and clutching a shotgun like he actually knew how to use it, called "The Cretaceous was never any warmer that forty-two Celsius."

"But the sun must have hit much harder, what with all that CO2 in the atmosphere…"

The paleontologist shrugged, "Might have. Or maybe the Spino got lucky and you should _keep shelling the area!" _He yelled out the last part so suddenly, the artificer did exactly as asked without asking his boss. As it turns out, she absolutely agreed with that idea and said nothing.

If a man who's lifelong dream has been to see live dinosaurs says you're not being trigger happy enough when bombing one of said dinosaurs, then you definitely need to step up your game.


	7. Dragonborn

**A/N: Guest: Your wish is my command! :P **

**I skipped to the part everyone's been patiently waiting for. I can write the padding chapters once the structure is laid down.**

It pokes in my mind, icy fingers trying to rip loose thoughts out, to remove all that won't submit so all that's left is whatever they put in its place. I lash out, bite it with thoughts as my body rattles the binds they put on it. Their hard water resonates as I hit it with my nose, the climbers in loose skins scattering before me, even though this cave is barely large enough to let me writhe and snap my jaws. It, the one in my mind, must retreat and we meet halfway as I cannot chase it into its own head.

It tries to steal images and thoughts, even as I roar and struggle, even as the scientists scatter, It keeps itself seated and plugged into me.

I see things, I see a Dinosaur and know it for what it is; a freak, some deranged scientist's attempt at creating a bioweapon that would never work. And half these words mean something to the other me, the one that sees. I see the animal, pitch black with white skull patterns turning blood red in its anger, and I think of Afghanistan, of Iran and of all these shithole where a beast like that could have cleared a town fast and clean. I still can't understand its mind, though, it's like looking at a mirror, though I do get a feeling of power, of a vast and ancient being that goes far beyond the agitated shell in that confinement cell. Genetic memory, the egg heads call it, Bones remembers his mother's life, and the one lead by the Spikes millions of years ago, it remembers all the hunting tricks and low blows that allowed his kind to survive this long.

"It's in her head!" Someone screams, and I'm petrified by what I just heard, both Me are just frozen into inaction. The one It calls Bones cannot believe such a thing is possible; sounds forming thoughts, meaning carried across by shouts and growls, and the one that sees only now realizes the one way connection didn't prevent the freak from using a mirror to have her show him her own thoughts.

She yanks out the plug, but I remember her mind, I remember Navy Seal training, pain I never thought possible, the sweetness of her first kiss and bitterness of the first breakup, how shitty high-school was to poor Kathleen, the pudgy broke kid in a private school full of stuck up bio-engineered freaks like Bones, like me. I remember human society, so quick to entice her into risking her life for a country that served only corporate interests, yet so reluctant to pay more than the bare minimum when she lost her legs. I remember three years of begging in the streets of Denver before the RDA came to her with a job and a new set of legs.

Kathleen Munroe and Bones, the genetic freak stare at each other through a sheet of plexiglass. I know its tensile strength now, and I know I can shatter it with a correctly aimed blow. I know Kate as well and she expects me to do just that. I won't.

I settle down, shift a bit in the restraints and drop myself on the floor in the most comfortable position possible. Kathleen looks at computer screens. My cerebral activity went so nuts it now ought to come with an allergy warning. And I haven't got a clue what that analogy means, but I know that, in time, all that information I now remember will smoothly integrate itself.

More importantly, I know where we're going; the island was small, but this new island, this moon, it will be big, new and exciting game awaits me there. That is all I need, for I am not like Kate, my species doesn't need kinship, romance, accomplishment and security; we need the thrills of the hunt.

Roars… Tyrann… Rexes are like us, but a thousand fold. I can get by just eating fish, though it's boring and takes incessant feeding, but they need their preys to give them a fight, or they may as well be eating stones, and the meat on that new island is tougher than even the RDA's metal skins, the AMP suits.

I'm anxious to get there.

"Can you…" Kate's prosthetic legs carry her to the window plane. "Can you hear me?"

I can both hear and understand, so I nod, and she goes pale as snow… Aw, there isn't any snow on Pandora. I'd have liked to see it at least once with my own eyes. Kate's gelatinous orbs see so little she might as well be colour blind and nearsighted.

"Get the director… And Quaritch… Fuck, just get everyone!" Kate yells, yanking down an alarm switch. She stands around, pacing like a caged monkey, then decides to meet her masters halfway. I can still taste her racing heartbeat as she is joined by a single, albeit surprisingly strong one. Miles Quaritch, brought back from the dead with only some memory loss and personality disorders to show for it. Red glare blinds me at regular intervals, sounds roll through this cave, which I know now, yet can hardly believe, was entirely built by people. The alarm, the glare and the blare, are meant to tell everyone their illusion of safety was just that, an illusion, a nightmare is about to break lose. Except I'm not, and this is just hilarious.

When they walk back in, the big boss is talking about me, his first question makes me… Well, it doesn't make me anything, I can't smile and laughing isn't a reflex I really have, but it is amusing.

"Just how smart is it?"

Kate, still shaken by our little face to face, struggles to answer. Instead, one of the scientists takes care of it for her.

"Before the link, we determined it must be at least as intelligent as terrestrial birds. Problem solving, self-awareness and tool use were all observed back on the island. It can could count up to twenty and…"

"Tools?" Quaritch growls, "What tools?"

Oh how I'd love to snicker right now.

Kate replies, "He used a rock, scratched it out of the ground with its hind legs and lifted it up with its arms, smashed my AMP open like a walnut."

Before the Colonel can answer, the lab rat, Levine, pipes in, "And it made use of cover, maneuvered around the camp so you couldn't shoot it without hitting some of our own people..."

Quaritch does not like what he's hearing, "And you made it even _smarter_?"

If we're fair here, she really just filled me in on the sixty thousand years of history I missed… And that being able to recall my mother's hunts, as well as her mothers' and so on until the days of the air that truly filled our lungs and lands that spread further than we could walk in a single lifetime, that this is not something they have. One individual can only remember about half his life, but he remembers it with far more clarity than I ever could. Time, for instance, I can't understand. There is no chronology to my memories, just now and then. Imagination is something else that's so alien it hurts me right there along the ridge of my forehead. To see things that aren't there, thoughts conjuring images that sometime become more real that what the eyes show. I see only what I see and what I saw. Humans create small movies in their head where they picture themselves doing a thing before actually doing it, planning, I do that too, but it's closer to their mathematics; step plus lunge equals face-plant, step plus step plus roar plus lunge equals hilarity when sneaking up on roosting raptors...

Lost in thoughts, I miss part of Kate's explanation and by the time I'm eavesdropping again, the scientist is explaining how my tiny brain can handle those massive thoughts. "Nerve clusters, along the spine, they act as tiny brains of their own, this is obviously Sorkin's doing, she must have spliced the original subject's DNA with that of a sauropod-like herbivore, free up the central nervous system by giving each organ its own dumbed down brain."

"But how smart is it _now?_"

Kate slumps down in a chair and throws a desperate glance at me, "Sir, it was rooting around my brain, everything I know, it knows."

Quaritch gives me a very dark look and I bare my teeth in the closest approximation of a smile I can muster. "Fuck…" The old soldier's expression grows friendlier, amazed. He didn't believe a word of that bullshit until I did that. "Now, I want a simple yes/no answer here, kid; does it speak English?"

The egg head goes on a ramble, "Well, it lacks the prefontal…"

"Yes, or no, boy." Snaps the old Colonel.

"No." Disappointment is evident on the man's graying face, "But it understands it perfectly."

I swear to whatever God I'm supposed to be swearing to, the Colonel's grin has got to be scarier than mine. "Plug me in." Is all he says, "Two way connection."

Kate protests, the scientist would protest, but he's not exactly one to ignore orders and so gets to work setting up the link. Kate tells her boss how bad an idea that is, that I almost wiped her mind with a one way connection, but the Colonel won't talk to her. There are only two alpha predators in this room and one of them has to submit.

Or, so he thinks. I'm not human, not a social creature, submission and domination are not in my genes, cooperation and intimidation, however, I understand. Friends are friends, to be protected until the friendships reaches the end of its usefulness, foes are to be killed or scared off. Preys are to be respected, avoided until the hunger comes and never wasted.

When he plugs himself in, I stand my ground and so does he. It's not like a physical fight at all, our thoughts are two streams, our minds two riverbeds, touching the streams can let you invade the other's, if your river's current is strong, but the only way to know is to risk it. When he does, it's nothing like Kate's domination attempt. He just looks, so I show him. I show him hunting and killing, I show him fighting and starving. He shows me much the same.

Sure, he didn't eat what he killed, but he killed for money, to eat. We're much the same, different times, same old bullshit. Kill or be killed. He likes me, more than anything on that Psychotic Wonderland, not because we're both killers or because we can understand one another, but because we're from the same pile of dirt, menacing and alien as I may be, I'm _normal_, an animal like he is, not some puppet to this gigantic mind-raping deity.

He shows me Toruk, the Great Leonopterix, and the Thanator, a fight to the death which he won, then lost.

Jake Sully's been frolicking around in the woods with his new native friends while his own race, his own world, choked and froze and burned for lack of… Energy. A concept I do not quite grasp, so Quaritch explains; mankind pumps out too many babies and doesn't die quick enough, so they had to settle lands that aren't fit for them to live on, energy makes it possible to survive, feeds their machines, that food is a rock they dig up on Pandora, a rock that has no use on that moon, yet seems to attract native settlements like honey attracts bees.

Very large, very blue bees.

Then, he shows me dragons. Mythological creatures both fierce and wise, dragons always fascinated the Colonel when he was a boy, and he thinks I'm the closest he's ever going to get to seeing one. He wants me to be a dragon for the RDA, to hoard riches, abduct princesses and kill the shit out of anyone stupid enough to play white knight.

I accept, but put two conditions; first, I want my sister's hatchlings to be plugged into this machine with me the moment they are born, so they will not be fumbling about in the dark, their mind too powerful for their undeveloped body, as I was back at their age, and he's going to figure out a way for me to breathe fire.

Because dragons _are_ fucking awesome.

"Done." He says, yanking the plug out of his skull. Kate seems relieved.

"Can we kill it now?" She pleads, not daring to look my way. Miles is still smiling.

"Kill him? Why would I want to do that?"

Poor girl looks so lost I kind of expect her to start crying, "I… It's dangerous, it killed my men!"

Cry me a river, sweetheart, you killed my sister, and her mate! Actually, I killed her mate… And my sister's weight worth of Kate's troops… Another thing I share with Quaritch; overzeal.

"Highly trained, well-armed ex-special forces men, yes, what do you figure it'll do to those savages with sticks and stones?" The Colonel isn't explaining himself, he's gloating. He's just found his own Toruk and I am seven metric tons of walking, thinking, prehistoric fuck-you! His words.

"And what if it turns on us?"

Quaritch's back to his irritable self again, "He's tough, not bulletproof, we'll shoot 'em with the biggest guns we can find until he tips over."

We all have our delusions.


End file.
